


carry

by tanyart



Series: tread lightly [5]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Banter, Carrying, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Recall, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 18:54:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11629776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: Genji doesn't carry the team but he carries a cowboy, if that counts.





	carry

The trouble with always finding the high ground is the possibility for a very long fall back down. Genji hasn’t been keeping an eye on McCree, though he has been aware of McCree’s revolver falling suspiciously silent for the last three minutes. This leaves Genji with a little more enemies than he cares to fight by himself, but it’s only been three minutes. There must not be any stairs for McCree to climb.

He ducks behind a car to reload a new set shuriken, make sure his swords are still within easy reach, and take a quick breather to set a new rhythm. His gaze flits upwards, sweeping over ledges and balconies. He is annoyed to find them all clear.

A whistling rocket flies above him. Genji sees  _that_. It crashes into the building behind him, the shattering debris forcing him to leap out from cover and into incoming gunfire. He distantly feels the sidewalk shake from the impact, making his footsteps skip over the ground before he can stand proper, but he cannot afford to stay still for long. He draws his sword and goes for the mercenary with the rocket launcher.

Seven more mercenaries move to intercept Genji, his beeline charge across the street towards his target too obvious and brazen. Genji deflects the first wave of bullets, gets a knife lodged into his armor where his left clavicle should have been, and puts three shuriken into the neck of the last man standing between him and the mercenary with the rocket launcher.

Genji’s HUD flashes several warnings once the point of the missile is directed his way. A dozen suggested escape routes scroll over his screen, his mind rejecting each one faster than he can blink the commands through the interface. He has no time to clear the screen, knowing he is surrounded on all sides with a rocket pointed to his chest.

Genji stomps his foot down, crossed, though he has enough discretion to make it look as if he is only backing away. “I have lined them up,” he mutters.

The mercenary’s eyes snap upwards, away from Genji. The rocket pointing at Genji shifts, but Genji has no time to stop it, letting it fire over his head. The shrieking audio input renders him deaf for the five seconds it takes to lunge for the mercenary, sword driving deep into the man’s abdomen while the second blade slashes across the throat. He knows where the mercenary had aimed the rocket, why it had been directed behind him instead of his head.

Genji doesn’t get to hear McCree’s shots over his ringing ears, but he turns around to take quick note of the six dead bodies before he starts sprinting back.

His audio sensors come back online in time to hear the rocket’s impact into the opposite balcony.

 _This_ , he thinks, jumping over fallen slabs of concrete and giant cracked asphalt— _this is why the high ground is troublesome_.

McCree is silent when he falls from the exploding balcony. Genji can see his hands reach out to grab onto a ledge, but it’s already crumbling into pieces. His hand slips, and McCree becomes a blur of vivid red in the air, serape fluttering in the wind.

Genji dives across the broken sidewalk, arms outstretched before he can stop himself.

There is nothing quite like catching a hundred kilograms of armor and cowboy. A second later, and Genji ends up on ground, surrounded by rubble, and McCree in his lap. His cybernetics are not pleased by the impact, sounding out critical warnings—something about strain and arm damage—but Genji is happy enough when his hands still have enough control to tighten his grip as he sits up.

“McCree?” Dust and broken glass spills off them both. Genji lays his hand over McCree’s eyes to block most of it from getting on his face. When he removes his hand, McCree stares back, eyes wide and dazed. Blood from his forehead trails down his face, dripping to his beard.

Genji flicks McCree’s hat upwards, which has a miraculous habit of staying on against all odds. The quick movement causes McCree to blink and lift a hand to his head to tip his hat back into place. He looks up at Genji.

“This is embarrassing. I think I might’ve swooned,” McCree finally says, breathless.

It’s more likely from whatever head injury McCree has taken from falling, but Genji huffs. “And why not? Is this not impressive?”

McCree gives him an unfocused look that appears vaguely sick and very concussed.

“Hm. Perhaps I will ask again later,” Genji says. He shifts a little, testing his legs as McCree starts to wiggle in his arms.

“I can still walk, it’s— _oh._  Oh, well, alrighty then.”

McCree weak protests die out once Genji stabilizes himself on his own two feet. He has one arm beneath McCree’s legs and the other around his mid-back. For a moment, McCree doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, making a few abortive movements before he resolutely hooks his metal arm around Genji’s neck and presses closer to their center of gravity. It helps. Genji assumes a man of McCree’s size and disposition doesn’t get to be carried very often, much less in a hold that is, for all intents and purposes, a princess carry.

But McCree doesn’t say anything and Genji doesn’t mind for now. He starts walking. Their rendezvous point with Winston and Reinhardt is nearly two blocks away.

“I will make you walk the last block,” Genji says, snickering.

McCree’s arms loosen around Genji’s neck. He frowns. “You ain’t gotta carry me at all.”

His tone isn’t the usual mocking whine or sharp teasing they frequently exchange. Genji looks down at McCree, but McCree’s gaze is elsewhere, watching behind Genji’s back and all around them. He looks solemn, though it suddenly occurs to Genji that McCree has never liked feeling incapacitated or useless. He supposes not much has changed since Blackwatch.

“Ah,” McCree says, sounding relieved. He points at some spot to their left. “My gun.”

He sounds apologetic but Genji hitches him higher and jogs lightly to where McCree had pointed. His cybernetics makes it easier to keep McCree in his arms, but they are both acutely aware that there are better ways to carry an injured man. Better ways that are less entertaining, though. Genji wonders how long McCree will last before his pride gives out.

The gun is, predictably, on the ground. They exchange amused looks with each other before McCree sweeps his free hand out in invitation.

“Now I usually don’t like another person touching my gun, but if you do a squat for me I’ll be  _very_  impressed,” McCree drawls.

“No, you can do it yourself,” Genji says, fond, and drops McCree on the ground.

This is how they discover the metal shard in McCree’s right ankle, and how McCree ends up sprawled on the pavement again with Genji crouched over him.

“How did you not notice it?” Genji asks, once McCree’s muffled cursing is over with. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Had a lot on my mind at the time,” McCree says testily. He glances at Genji and prods his chestplate. “And  _you’ve_  got a knife sticking outta your left clavicle.”

Genji pulls out the knife while McCree takes care of the metal shard embedded through his boot. They both mutter, though Genji is happy to hear that McCree’s pained grunt had been louder.

With their most serious injuries taken care of, McCree reaches over to grab Peacekeeper, slowly getting to his feet. Genji does a few quick stretches to shake out the soreness, alloyed arms scraping against their new dents, and stands as well. He turns to McCree, surprised to find the other man already at his shoulder.

“Ready?” McCree asks. His expression is a good mix of expectant and resigned.

Genji pauses, uncomprehending, before he realizes what McCree is waiting for.

“Oh. You still want to be carried?” Genji asks, slightly taken aback. He holds out his arms.

Many things happen at once, though the most fascinating one is the color washing over McCree’s face before he ducks his head. Genji stares, expecting a smart quip or sarcastic remark from him—and it’d be  _easy_  to make one since it’s all they do, most of the time—but McCree only steps back with his sad limping right ankle and puts his hands up.

“Uh, um,” says McCree, waving them uselessly. He tugs his hat down over his eyes. “Oh, I just thought, uh-”

Flustered. The word pops up in Genji’s mind like one of his HUD warnings. McCree is flustered, which in turn makes Genji a little embarrassed as well.

“It is perfectly fine to enjoy being carried like a princess,” he says, adopting Zenyatta’s kind tone. He has gotten very good at mimicking it. “By me, especially. Anyone would understand.”

McCree throws him a mean look. He is still red to his ears, but he at least he’s stopped trying to wring his revolver to pieces. With one metal arm, he might actually succeed.

“Genji,” he says evenly, “Shut your mouth.”

“You cannot see it.”

“Oh, for cryin’ out— _ugh_.”

Grinning, Genji sweeps McCree off his feet in a manner very befitting of a princess. He manages a small mocking spin, cut short by one of McCree’s stupidly long legs hitting a crooked streetlamp. It is the injured one, of course.

“ _Fuck_  you,  _fuck_ Recall,” McCree hisses, grip on Genji tightening. “Shoulda never answered you people.”

Genji laughs, stumbling as McCree shifts his weight, but it only causes them to knock heads with each other, McCree’s warm breath fogging the corner of Genji’s vision before he sways back. Genji regains his footing and continues to walk.

“I think,” McCree begins, leaning in to glare, “you  _want_ to carry me.”

The blood is beginning to dry on McCree’s face, clumping his eyelashes and staining his teeth. Genji becomes very conscious of McCree’s broken nose just inches from his mouth. It’s his helmet. It confuses people on where they should look or meet his eyes. Genji bounces McCree in his arms, jostling him to sink lower into his hold. The top of McCree’s hat brushes harmlessly beneath Genji’s chin, and McCree’s stare becomes hidden beneath the brim. Better.

“Woah now,” McCree says, clinging harder, hand going to Genji’s neck. His thumb brushes the rim of Genji’s faceplate.

It’s the helmet again. There’s no sense of space. Genji thinks he may have miscalculated the move after all.

“You are walking the last block,” he says, whether to remind himself or McCree is up for debate.

McCree scoffs. “Carry me some other way then.”

“Hm,” Genji says thoughtfully, as his HUD flashes a red warning, and McCree goes dropping from his critically damaged arms once again.

 

* * *

 

Later, Winston asks, “Why didn’t you two call us earlier?”

Reinhardt’s huge arms are more suitable for carrying any amount of people. Genji is fairly certain Reinhardt can fit four more occupants within his embrace, but he is too exhausted to ask, and Reinhardt’s arms are very comfortable despite the armor. His body twitches, drained cybernetics making it difficult to even shrug his opinion.

“Listen,” McCree begins, nestled within Winston’s fur. He doesn’t get to finish, too muffled by Winston’s hand going over his face as he leaps into the air to get McCree back to base. His hat doesn’t fly off, for some reason.

Meanwhile, Reinhardt booms into Genji’s ear, “I admire your perseverance! Very noble of you to carry a comrade back to safety.”

“Yes,” Genji agrees, voice growing fainter as he hears Reinhardt’s charging engine start to fire. He has seen that thing in action, usually against enemies. His grip on Reinhardt attempts to tighten, but his arms dangle uselessly over his chest, all his energy spent from carrying McCree.

“Are you ready, friend?”

“Yes,” Genji says, just to get it over with.

 

* * *

 

“I think I may have swooned,” Genji admits to McCree, laying in the next bed over, once they have both woken up in the medbay.

“Y’see?” McCree says.


End file.
